


Kitty

by katesfolly



Series: Sinking Is Just Like Falling [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katesfolly/pseuds/katesfolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson meets up with a fellow soldier and tries something new. </p>
<p>A little backstory for the tattoo John has in "A Strange House in Chelsea."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kitty

John lost track of the days often; sometimes he figured the guys who went to religious services did it as much to keep track of the weeks as to have regular contact with their Maker. 

So he doesn’t know if it was Tuesday, or Saturday. John doesn’t remember much about that whole time period, except for one day, when he was walking down one of the nondescript halls near the airstrips and a door banged open and a whoop preceded a blonde flier through the door. The pilot was someone John had known casually. He was an American flyboy, friendly, with a devil-may-care attitude and a bit of a reputation after working his way through the lovelier of the young soldiers. 

John was sure, as with so many of their nicknames, there was some internal logic, because “Kitty” certainly wasn’t feminine. 

***

Kitty spots him and whoops. “Doc, I just got in, and look at me, I didn’t die, again.” His grin creases his cheeks up under his eyes and betrays his age, a bit. He’s obviously high on adrenalin and sunshine. His gaze flashes with consideration over Doc, who’s just out of mess and reasonably clean for a change. “And hell, I guess it’s makin’ me feel lucky.”

John’s eyes go round as Kitty grabs his sleeve and pulls him through a handy door. It’s some sort of mechanical room, but John doesn’t really register what sort; he’s a bit distracted, because Kitty’s saying, “Yes, or no?” from just a little closer than John’s comfortable with. John gapes at him, and Kitty steps forward to grab two handfuls of his shirt-front, still not touching his body, even through the fabric. John’s hands come up automatically into a defensive position, ready to break the hold, then they both freeze. They’re a respectable distance apart, but the other man’s eyes are gleaming. 

“Yes, or no?”

“No, Christ!” 

Kitty lets him go immediately, already backing up a step as John shoves him. John stumbles and his back hits the door. He’s breathing a little hard as they watch each other, Kitty carefully neutral and John, trying to process shock and intrigue and the hot rolling weight in his belly. Kitty’s never given him reason to think about this. But now he’s noticing. Kitty’s put together pretty nicely, and John’s been alone a long time.

“Guess I’m not as lucky as I thought.” Kitty powers up his grin, “No harm, no…” 

John didn’t end up a doctor, and he didn’t end up a soldier, by backing down from a challenge. 

“Yes.” 

He takes two long strides forward to fist his hands in the other man’s shirt and pulls him down. They stare, eyes wide open, Kitty’s unsure, John’s challenging, his jaw tight. John lays his mouth against Kitty’s. It’s hot and soft, with a thrilling little bristle of stubble that bites into John’s lips as they shift.

They’re tentative, moving gently together, till John licks and Kitty parts his lips, letting him explore. John runs the sensitive tip of his tongue along the edge where chapped, sunburnt lips yield to the silky interior of his mouth, rubs his lower lip deliberately side to side, presses up harder to lever him open more and meet the velvety top of his tongue. John’s hair is standing on end, prickling all over his body. 

John sucks in a slice of Kitty’s lower lip and nips it gently. A soft sound that’s nearly a whimper escapes Kitty as he leans back, bracing on the pump behind him to steady himself. It trips a switch in John and he’s suddenly swarming all over the other man. His left hand slips upward to describe the curve of Kitty’s neck, the ridge of cheekbone, the gritty jaw, while Kitty keeps his hands as neutral as he can, riding along John’s sides, just above his waist, flexing and releasing as waves of arousal hit him. John pushes back gently with his hand still gathered in Kitty’s shirt, meeting his eyes, both of them breathing hard, mouths red and color high. It’s been, God, so long since John’s touched anyone this way; suddenly it seems like the most gorgeous, glorious, human, animal thing he could do. 

John turns away swiftly and Kitty slumps, till he sees John wedging a chair under the door. They’re in a small mechanical room, with a single chair and a small desk littered with tools. Kitty has used it before; John’s just a fast learner. He turns back, face alive with need, and Kitty crosses to half-sit, half-lean on the table, compensating his height for the shorter man. John’s mouth lands on his again for a breathless moment, then skims across the places his hands have described. He licks at the corner of Kitty’s eye, sucks at his cheekbone, runs first his nose, then his lips along the whorl of his ear. It makes Kitty’s hands clench on John’s arms, and he helplessly pulls him closer, into the vee of his spread legs. John closes the last gap, leaning in to feel contact from chest to groin. It sends a rush of heat down from the crown of his head to his cock, their cocks. He yanks his shirt out of his pants, and Kitty, who’s just in a t-shirt, pulls his over his head to gather behind his neck, not bothering to remove it. 

His chest is wide and white compared to the color of his face, and he’s sweating a bit. John is irresistibly drawn to the complicated intersection of pec with clavicle with the ridge of muscle above it. He growls a little and lowers his mouth as Kitty shoves his hands in under John’s shirt to ride up and down his sides. First below, then above the clavicle, John works his way up toward Kitty’s neck as the other man rocks his hips. He’s not pushing out to get more contact, just shifting helplessly on the edge of the desk. When John sinks his teeth right at the corner of neck and shoulder, Kitty’s hands slap down to grip the edge of the desk and his head goes back. 

“Shit. Shit. Doc, I—shit.” His hips tilt up, sharp, against John’s. “What’s your name? I—“

“John. John.” John’s feeling a bit helpless himself, torn between the strangeness of feeling the ridge of another man’s erection and the nearly irresistible urge to press forward, harder and harder.

“John, God, John.” It’s nearly reverent. John’s running his hands down now, down Kitty’s bare chest, over a nipple which causes a reflexive little jerk, down to his hips, scooting him forward on the desk to press them together, hard. 

“Ah—“ 

“Jesus.”

They both make a breathless sound of relief. 

“What,” Kitty swallows and his lips are slack and red and alluring, and John slides his mouth over them again, pushing into the other man with the strength of his legs, feeling one booted heel hooking around the back of his knee as they rock together. “What do you want, I…Can I suck you?”

John stills, his motion just breathing now, eyes squeezing shut as Kitty’s open, a little too wide. 

“Yes.” 

He spins them, hitching himself onto the desk but still controlling the press of the other man’s hips as they kiss breathlessly again.

Kitty starts a slow slide down, fabric whispering against skin. He keeps watchful eyes on John’s face, pupils wide. He sees no hesitation. His hands go to John’s waist, scribing the intersection of skin and canvas once from lumbar spine to bellybutton before unhitching the belt and buttons, one at a time. He moves closer to just rub his open mouth along the ridge of John’s cock through his pants. John’s eyes narrow and his breath huffs out. Some interior part of him is in shock, but his skin’s ablaze with want and he hitches pants and underwear down together.

Kitty finally drops his eyes for a moment. John’s gripping the edge of the table, hard, and watching as Kitty runs his thumbs down the creases of his legs to bend his cock out from his body. It’s a minimal touch, still, careful, not straying too far. He looks up again and licks his lips, messily, then runs his mouth down John’s cock in a smooth motion that draws out a choking sound. John pulses from arse to tip, the whole root of him clenched up toward Kitty’s smooth mouth. He’s not sucking yet, just running his lips and tongue and palate luxuriously up and down, the spit already escaping to run down to the base and wet the nest of brown curls. A moment later his hands clench again where they are on John’s thighs and he starts moving in earnest, sucking at the top of each stroke while his left hand gently jacks below his mouth. It’s steady and slow for a few strokes, then Kitty’s right hand drops to his own lap, jerking at his clothing, uncoordinated till he gets a hand on his cock and moans with relief. The vibration draws a desperate little huff from John as well and he starts rocking his hips, blundering a hand around his partner’s head, vague and unsettled as Kitty works him, works them, faster. He can feel the rhythm of Kitty’s elbow against his calf, the sharp edge of the desk, hear the rattle of a wrench behind him on the desk, the hum of the pump in the corner, everything in sharp relief. 

“Oh, close, I’m—“ John’s hips stutter, then resume their rhythm, and Kitty drives a little harder, down further in his throat as he clenches up himself. His hand drops to John’s balls where they’re drawn up against his body and just—strokes—once, and John loses it, a breathy sound that’s almost a word escaping him as Kitty swallows and swallows, making a helpless, desperate moan. Kitty’s hand flurries, then clenches and stills for long moments, his whole body rigid. He gentles and holds John’s softening prick in his mouth as his forehead falls against John’s stomach, just for a moment.

John wrestles his head back down to look. Kitty lifts his, looking for a moment like a Russian icon, golden and glowing, muddy blue eyes cast up to a heaven he can’t see. “John.”

John’s absolutely still, while Kitty fishes a bandana out of one of his cargo pockets and cleans himself up, and puts his clothes back together, and stands, drawing up John’s trousers as he goes. He just looks, as neutral as he can. John looks shocked, and wrecked, and relieved.

“It really is my lucky day.” Kitty’s words are joking, but they sound unsure, and he can’t quite make a smile. John makes it for him, along with a little huff of amusement, at himself, them, the situation, the ridiculous broom closet of a room they’ve just had sex in. Kitty beams it back to him, with relief.

“And mine.” John says.

“I have a weekend pass at the end of the month.” Kitty says.

It is, as they say, the beginning of a beautiful friendship.


End file.
